Letters to Layla

It's been awhile. Not because I have not had anything to say, much to the contrary, but these days my time with two hands is rare and usually occupied by more important tasks. Orrin is beautiful and healthy and thriving, almost 4 months old. I still find myself taken aback at times, asking myself if this is really my life, do I really have a baby?

I think back to last year, when I was so desperately clinging to reminders of my motherhood, and now, when I am literally covered in reminders on a daily basis. Even at work, when I manage to escape the spit up and pee, I leak milk. Such a difference from the aching emptiness that followed your arrival. And still, sometimes, I don't quite believe it.

Today has been hard. I can't really figure out why I am in such a terrible mood, but terrible moods inevitably lead to reflection of terrible moments and that led me here. I find myself missing being pregnant sometimes, but I think it is more that I miss that short space of time I carried you. I miss that little sliver in my life that was so blissfully, obliviously happy.

I find myself wondering what you would have been like. What your laugh would have sounded like. What color your eyes would have been, or if you would have been born with as much hair as your brother. Sometimes, when he is sleeping, I catch a glimpse of him that looks like you.

I have two babies.

Everyone forgets.